Throwing a broken limb
to the shells above our heads.
The old people’s home we went
to to grab conkers, height.
People sagged in their chairs
dehydrating like unfed tomatoes
as the sun blitzed the pains.
We carried on throwing, shouting
carrying our increasing sack of growth
that was maturing while we walked.
Shells ready to crack open
while them indoors shrivelled to bone
their rings of life coming to an end.
We were fragmenting
not aware one day we will sit behind glass
empty of seeds, wrinkling away under sunlight.
Gareth lives in Wales. He is an aspiring writer who hopes one day to achieve something special with the pen.